"I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the
world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil."John 17:15.

His prayer of Christ is an ever precious portion to all
true believers, from the fact that each of them has an inalienable interest in it. Every
one of us, beloved, when we listen to the words of Christ should recollect that he is
praying for us; that while it is for the great body of his elect he intercedes in this
chapter and the one preceding it, yet it is also for each believer in particular that he
offers intercession. However weak we are, however poor; however little our faith, or
however small our grace may be, our names are still written on his heart; nor shall we
lose our share in Jesus' love.

I will proceed at once to the discussion of the text as my time is limited. First, there
is a negative prayer: "I pray not that thou shouldst take them out of the
world;" second, here is a positive prayer; but that thou shouldest keep them
from the evil."

We have then a negative prayer in this verse. "I pray not that thou shouldst
take them out of the world. "Now, beloved, when we see persons converted to God, when
men are turned front iniquity unto righteousness, from sinners into saints, the thought
sometimes strikes uswould it not be good to take them at once to heaven, would it
not be an excellent thing to translate them speedily from the realms of sin to the breast
of the Lord who loved them with an everlasting love? Would it not be wiser to take the
young plants out of the chilly air of this world, where they may possibly be injured and
weakened, and transplant them at once to the land where they may bloom in peace and
tranquility for ever? Not so, however, does Jesus pray. When the man had the devils cast
out of him, he said to Jesus, "Lord, I would follow thee whithersoever thou goest.
"But Jesus said to him, "Go to thy friends and relations, and tell them how
great things the Lord hath done for thee." Some men when they are converted are all
for going speedily to heaven; but they have not done with earth yet. They would like to
wear the crown without bearing the cross, they desire to win without running, and conquer
without a battle, but their whim has no countenance from Jesus, for he exclaims, "I
pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world."

I shall first of all speak of the meanings of this prayer; secondly, the reasons
of this prayer; thirdly, the doctrinal inferences that we may derive from it;
and fourthly, the practical lessons it teaches. Briefly on each point.

I. First. THE MEANINGS OF THIS PRAYER. "I pray not that thou shouldest take
them out of the world. "Now, there are two senses in which this prayer may be
understood. One is,he prays not that they should, by retirement and solitude,
be kept entirely separate from the world; and the second,he asks not that they
should be taken away by death.

First, as regards retirement from the World and solitude. Some hermits and others
have fancied that if we were to shut ourselves from the world and live alone, we should
then be more devoted to God and serve him better. Many men of old lived in deserts, never
coming into the cities, wandering about alone, praying in caves and forests, and thinking
they were contaminated, and rendered impure if once they mingled with mankind. So have we
among the Roman Catholics, persons who act the part of hermits, living far from the common
haunts of men, and conceiving that by so doing they shall abundantly serve God. There are
also certain orders of monks and nuns who live almost alone, seeing only their fellows,
and fancying that by seclusion they are putting honor upon God, and winning salvation for
themselves. Now it is too late in the day for any of as to speak against monasticism. It
has demonstrated its own fallacy. It was found that some of those men who had separated
from society were guilty of more vile and vicious practices, and sinned more grossly than
men who were in the world. There are not many who can depart from the customs of social
life, and in solitude maintain their spirit pure and unsullied. Why, brethren, common
sense tells us at once that living alone is not the way to serve God. It may be the way to
serve self, and wrap ourselves in a garment of self-complacency; but it cannot be the way
to worship God truly. If it be possible, by this means, to fulfil one part of the great
law of God, we cannot, possibly carry out the other portionto love our neighbour as
ourselves, for we thus become unable to bind up the broken-hearted, to bring the wanderer
back, or to win souls from death and sin. Out of the heart proceedeth all evil, and if we
were in retirement we should sin, because we should carry our hearts with us into whatever
solitude we entered. If we could but once get rid of our hearts, if there were some means
of rendering our natures perfect, then we might be able to live alone; but, as we now are,
that door must be well listed that would keep out the devil; that cell must be much
secluded that sin cannot enter. I have heard of a man who thought he could live without
sin if he were to dwell alone; so he took a pitcher of water and a store of bread, and
provided some wood, and shut himself up in a solitary cell saying, " Now I shall live
in peace." But in a moment or two he chanced to kick the pitcher over, and he
thereupon used an angry expression. Then he said, "I see it is possible to lose one's
temper even when alone;" and he at once returned to live among men.

But it may be understood in a second sense. "I pray not that thou shouldest take them
out of this world"by death. That is a sweet and blessed mode of taking
us out of the world, which will happen to us all by-and-by. In a few more years the
chariot of fire and the horses of fire will take away the Lord's soldiers. But Jesus does
not pray that one of his chosen people should be too soon removed, he does not desire to
see his newly begotten souls plume their wings and fly aloft to heaven until their time
shall come. How frequently does the wearied pilgrim put up the prayer, "O that I had
wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest. "But Christ does not
pray like that; he leaves it to his Father, until, like shocks of corn fully ripe, we
shall each of us be gathered into our Master's garner. Jesus does not plead for our
immediate removal by death. He asks that we may do well in the world, but he never asks
for us to be gathered in before we are ripe. Thus I have explained the two meanings of the
words, "I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world"either
by living retired from men, or being taken away by death.

II. Now the second point WAS THE REASON FOR THIS PETITION. These reasons are threefold,
Christ does not pray that we should be taken out of the world, because our abode here is
for our own good, for the world's benefit, and for his glory.

1. First, it would not be for our own good to be taken out of this world. I leave
out the first idea of the text, and only speak of it concerning death. We conceive that
the greatest blessing we shall ever receive of God is to die; but doubtless it would not
be for our good to withdraw from this world as soon as we had escaped from sin. It is
better for us to tarry a little while; far better. And the reasons for this
arefirst, because a little stay on earth will make heaven all the sweeter.
Nothing makes rest so sweet as toil; nothing can render security so pleasant as a long
exposure to alarms, and fears, and battles. No heaven will be so sweet as a heaven, which
has been preceded by torments and pains. Methinks the deeper draughts of woe we drink here
below, the sweeter will be those draughts of eternal glory which we shall receive from the
golden bowls of bliss; the more we are battered and scarred on earth the more glorious
will be our victory above, when the shouts of a thousand times ten thousand angels welcome
us to our Father's palace. The more trials the more bliss, the more sufferings the more
ecstasies, the more depression the higher the exaltation. Thus we shall gain more of
heaven by the sufferings we shall pass through here below. Let us not then, my brethren,
fear to advance through our trials: they are for our good; to stop here awhile is for our
benefit. Why! we should not know how to converse in heaven if we had not a few trials and
hardships to tell of, and some tales of delivering grace to repeat with joy. An old sailor
likes to have passed through a few shipwrecks and storms, however hazardous they may have
been, for he anchors in Greenwich Hospital, he will there tell, with great pleasure, to
his companions, of his hair-breadth escapes. There will be some old soldiers in heaven,
too, who will recount their fights, how their Master delivered them, and how he won the
victory and kept off all their foes.

Again, we should not have fellowship with Christ if we did not stop here.
Fellowship with Christ is so honorable a thing that it is worth while to suffer, that we
may thereby enjoy it. You have sometimes heard me express a desire that I might be in the
number of those who shall be alive and remain, and so shall escape death, but a dear
friend of mine says, he had rather die, in order that he might thus have fellowship with
Christ in his sufferings, and methinks the thought finds an echo in my own breast. To die
with Jesus makes death a perfect treasure, to be a follower in the grave with him makes
death a pleasure. Moreover, you and I might be taken for cowards, although we may have
fellowship with him in his glory, if we had no scars to prove the sufferings we had passed
through, and the wounds we had received for his name. Thus, again you see it is for our
good to be here; we should not have known fellowship with the Saviour, if we had not
tarried here a little while. I should never have known the Saviour's love half so much if
I had not been in the storms of affliction. How sweet it is to learn the Saviour's love
when nobody else loves us! When friends flee away, what a blessed thing it is to see that
the Saviour does not forsake us but still keeps us, and holds fast by us, and clings to
us, and will not let us go! O beloved brother and sister, believe that your remaining here
on earth is for your eternal benefit, and therefore Jesus said. "I pray not that thou
shouldest take them out of the world."

2. And again, it is for the good of other people. Methinks we should all be willing
to remain on earth for the good of others. Why may not saints die as soon as they are
converted? For this reason: because God meant that they should be the means of the
salvation of their brethren. You would not, surely, wish to go out of the world if there
were a soul to be saved by you. Methinks if I could go to glory before I had converted all
the souls allotted to me, I should not be happy; but that would be impossible, for God
will not shut his saints in till they have been spiritual fathers to those appointed. We
do not wish to enter heaven till our work is done, for it would make us uneasy on our beds
if there were one single soul left to be saved by our means. Tarry, then, Christian; there
is a brand to be plucked out of the fire, a sinner to be saved from his sins, a rebel to
be turned from the error of his ways, and may hap that sinner is one of thy relatives. May
hap, poor widow, that art spared in this world, because there is a wayward son of thine
not yet saved, and God hath designed to make thee the favored instrument of bringing him
to glory. And thou hoary-headed Christian, it may be that though "the grasshopper is
a burden to thee," and thou longest to go, thou art kept here because one of thy
offspring, by thy instrumentality, is yet to be saved. Tarry, then, for thy son's sake,
who came from thy loins. I know how deeply thou dost love him, and for his sake surly thou
art content to be left here a little, counting it for the best that thou mayest bring in
thy son to glory with thee.

3. But the third reason is because it is for God's glory. A tried saint brings more
glory to God than an untried one. I do verily think in my own soul that a believer in a
dungeon reflects more glory on his Master than a believer in paradise, that a child of God
in the burning fiery furnace, whose hair is yet unscorched, and upon whom the smell of the
fire has not passed, displays more the glory of Godhead than even he who stands with a
crown upon his head, perpetually singing praises before the Father's throne. Nothing
reflects so much honor on a workman as a trial of his work, and its endurance of it. So
with God. It honors him when his saints preserve their integrity. Peter honored Christ
more when he walked upon the water, than when he stood upon the land. There was no glory
given to God by his walking on the solid shore, but there was glory reflected when he trod
upon the water. Peter saw the Lord coming on the water, and he said to him, "Lord, if
it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. And he said, come. And when Peter was come
down out of the ship, he walked on the water to go to Jesus." What may we not go
through, Christians, at his command? O methinks we could rise and cut Agag to pieces, and
hew the devil himself and break his head, through the power of Jesus. It is then for the
glory of Jesus that we yet tarry. If my lying in the dust would elevate Christ one inch
higher, I would say, "O let me remain, for it is sweet! to be here for the
Lord." And if to live here for ever would make Christ more glorious, I would prefer
to live here eternally. If we could but add more jewels to the crown of Christ by
remaining here, why should we wish to be taken out of the world? We should say, "It
is blessed to be anywhere, where we can glorify him."

III. The third point is THE DOCTRINAL INFERENCE WE MAY DERIVE FROM THIS PRAYER.

The first inferenceDeath is God taking the people out of the world; and when we
die we are removed by God. Death is not an independent being, who comes at his own
will, to carry us away when he pleases. In fact, it is not true that death does take away
the Christian at all: God alone can remove his children from this world. Whether the
humble peasant, or the reigning monarch, one hand lifts them to the sky. You will see this
by referring to the Revelation where the vintage of the wicked is gathered by an angel,
but the harvest of the righteous is reaped by Christ himself. "And another angel came
out of the temple which is in heaven, he also having a sharp sickle. And another angel
came out from the altar, which had power over the fire; and cried with a loud cry to him
that had the sharp sickle, saying, Thrust in thy sharp sickle, and gather the clusters of
the vine of the earth; for her grapes are fully ripe. And the angel thrust in his sickle
into the earth, and gathered the vine of the earth, and cast it into the great winepress
of the wrath of God." These were the wicked. But, if you go to the preceding passage,
it says, "And I looked, and behold a white cloud, and upon the cloud one sat like
unto the Son of man, having on his head a golden crown, and in his hand a sharp sickle.
And another angel came out of the temple, crying with a loud voice to him that sat on the
cloud, Thrust in thy sickle, and reap: for the time is Come for thee to reap; for the
harvest of the earth is ripe. And he that sat on the cloud thrust in his sickle on
the earth; and the earth was reaped." Christ is the reaper who cuts his own corn. He
will not trust an angel to do it. God alone has the issues of life in his hand.

The next thing is that dying is not of one-half so much importance as living to
Christ." I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world." He does
not make their dying an object of prayer, "but that thou shouldest keep them from the
evil." He prays that they should be preserved in life, knowing that their death would
assuredly follow rightly, as a matter of course. Many say one to the other, "Have you
heard that so-and-so is dead?" "How did he die?" They should rather say,
"How did he live?" It may be an important question,-how does a man die; but the
most important question is, "How does a man live?" What a curious notion people
get about death! The question they ask is not whether a man dies in the Lord Jesus, but,
"Has he had a very easy death? Did he die gently?" If so, they conclude that all
is well. If I ask, "Had he any affection to trust in Christ?" the reply probably
will be, "Well, at all events, I thought he had; he had a very easy death."
People think so much of an easy death. If there are no pains in death, if they are not in
trouble, and not plagued like others, they falsely conclude all to be well. But though
like sheep they are laid in the grave, they may awaken to destruction in the morning. It
is not a sign of grace that our dying is easy. It is natural for persons in the decay of
strength to die easily. Many of the most vicious men, who have destroyed the power of
their bodies, have an easy, painless death, from the fact that there is nothing to
struggle against death; but, then, though they die like lambs, they wake up in sorrow. Do
not put any confidence in death-beds, my dear friends; do not look on them as evidences of
Christianity. The greatest evidence is not how a man dies, but how he lives.

IV. The practical lesson we learn from this part of the text "I pray not that
thou shouldest take them out of the world"Is this, that we never have any
encouragement peevishly to ask God to let us die. Christians are always wanting to die
when they have any trouble or trial. You ask them why? "Because we would be with the
Lord." O yes, they want to be with the Lord, when trouble and temptations come upon
them. But it is not because they are "panting to be with the Lord," it is
because they desire to get rid of their troubleselse they would not want to die at
all times when a little vexation is upon them. They want to get home, not so much for the
Saviour's company, as to get out of the little hard work. They did not wish to go away
when they were in quiet and prosperity. Like lazy fellows, as most of us are, when we get
into a little labour we beg to go home. It is quite right sometimes that you should desire
to depart, because you would not prove yourself to be a true Israelite if you did not want
to go to Jerusalem. You may pray to be taken home out of the world, but Christ will not
take up the petition. When your prayers come to the Lord, this little one may try to got
amongst them, but Christ will say, "I do not know anything about you, 'I pray not
that thou shouldest take them out of the world."' You may wish it sincerely, and
really desire it, but you will not at present get your Master to pray with you. Instead,
then, of crying, or wishing to be away from the battle, brace yourself up in the name of
the Lord. Think every wish to escape the fight, is but a desertion of your Master. Do not
so much as think of rest, but remember, that though you may cry, "Let me retire into
the tent," you will not be admitted until you return a victor. Therefore, stop here,
and work and labour.

My dear friends, I had intended to preach from the other half of the verse, but that is
quite impossible, the time is so far gone, and I can only manage the first part thereof.
So I must depart from my original intention; and I will restrict myself to some thoughts
which occur to me upon the first portion of our text.

"I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world." Perhaps, to-morrow
you will be saying, "I am very sorry Sabbath-day is over. I am obliged to go to
business again. I wish it were always Sunday, that I attend to my preaching, or to the
schools, or to the prayer-meeting, or to the tract-distributing. No obstructions of the
world afflict me there, no vexatious of the spirit occur there. I am sick of the world.
Oh! if I could never go into it again." Let me jog thy elbow a bit. Does Jesus think
so? Hear him! "I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world." There
is no remedy for the ill, if it be an ill, therefore endure it with becoming fortitude;
yea, rather seek to improve the opportunity thus afforded you, of conferring a blessing
upon your race, and of gaining advantages for yourselves.

The pious mind will know how to improve the very sight of sin to its own sanctification.
It will learn humility when it remembers that restraining grace alone prevents a similar
fault in itself. It will gather subjects for gratitude and admiration from the fact, that
grace alone has made it to differ. Never shall we value grace so much as when we see the
evil front which it delivers us, never shall we more abhor sin than when we discern its
visible deformity. Bad society is in itself like the poisonous cassava, but if baked in
the fire of grace it may even be rendered useful. True grace casts salt into the poisonous
stream, and then when forced to ford it, the filth thereof is destroyed. Abide, then, O
soldier, in the trenches of labour and battle, for the hardness of service is beneficial
to thee.

But remember while here that thou losest no opportunity of attacking the foe. Never miss
an opportunity of having a shot at the devil. Be ready on all occasion to do mischief to
the enemy. In business, drop a word of savour and unction; in company, turn the
conversation heavenward; in private, wrestle at the throne. I do not advise you to intrude
religion at unseasonable hours. I do not conceive it to be your duty when a customer calls
to pay a bill to ask him into your office and spend half an hour in prayer with him, nor
would I think it needful to sanctify your ribbons and shawls by exhorting the purchasers
across the counter. Some have not been quite innocent of the charge of cant who make as
much use of religion to attract customers, as they do of their plate glass window. Do not
talk of religion to be heard of men, but when a fair opportunity offers, out with your
rifle and take a steady aim. Cromwell's singular advice to his soldiers was, "Trust
in God, my friends, and keep your powder dry." In a better sense this is mine. More
than all keep up a continual fire on the emeny by a holy life. Nothing will more reprove
sin than your holiness. If you cannot tell the stick it Is crooked, you can prove it to be
so, by laying a straight one side by side with it. So put your purity before the impure,
and they will be effectually reproved.

Well then, again, do not be afraid to go out into the world to do good. Christ is
keeping you in the world for the advantage of your fellow-men. I am sometimes wicked
enough to think that I would rather go anywhere than stand up again and preach my Master's
gospel. Like Jonah, I have thought I would really pay my fare to be carried away to
Tarshish, instead of coming back to Nineveh. So would some of you who have tried to
preach, and found you could not succeed as you desired. But do not be down-hearted, my
brother; a Christian should never get so. If you have but one listener to-day, perhaps the
next time the number will be doubled, and so on, till they cannot be counted. Never say,
"I wish to go out of this world:" do not murmur, "My life Is prolonged
beyond my joys." Do what you can. Do not go amongst people with fear; do not be
ashamed to look duty in the face. If you are not successful at first, do not he cowards
and run away from your guns. We should do all we can to bring our guns into line with our
brothers, and take good aim at our foes. Never desert your work, though you come home
distressed in spirit, though you see no gleam of success, and nothing is gained.
Recollect, you cannot run out of the battle, but you must go on; and you cannot escape the
service. On then, and glory shall be yours.

Now, my brethren, what bearing has this text upon the ungodly? There are some here, my
dear friends, of whom I have sometimes thought that I could almost pray that God should
take them out of the world. I can tell you why; they are so wickedso dreadfully
wicked, such hardened reprobates, with such iron souls, that they seem as if they never
would be turned to God, and whose portion it would appear to be damned themselves, and to
lead others to the same condition. I know a village where there is a man so vicious, so
abandoned, that I could almost pray for him to be removed out of the world; he is so
awfully wicked that many of those I thought hopeful Christians have been poisoned by his
example. Indeed he seemed to be depraving the entire population. He stands like a deadly
Upas tree, with outspread branches, overshadowing the whole place. He is consuming all
around him; and instead of it being a mercy for him to be here, it would be like a mercy
if he were gone. Are not some of you like that man? Are you not so bad that you are doing
all the mischief in the world you can? You never do anything for the cause of Christ, You
are always trying to do your utmost against it. You never sow a little blade of God's
grass where none grew before. You are of no service, and yet you are spared, because Jesus
says, " I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world." He prays
that you may be in the world a little longer. And what has he preserved you from? First,
fever comes and bows thee down; but Christ says, "Let him not depart yet. O spare him
now." And thou art spared. The second time, disease comes near unto thee, and great
pains bow thee down. Again he prays, "Spare him!" and thou art yet safe. The
third time thou art fast approaching thy end. Now the angel of death is lifting up the
glittering steel, and his axe is almost fallen on thee. Yet Christ says, "Spare him,
angel! Spare himperadventure he may yet turn to me with full purpose of heart."
He whom thou hatest loved thee so much that he interceded for thee, and therefore thou
wert spared till now. Remember, however, that this reprieve will not continue for ever. At
last Justice will cry; "Cut him down, he cumbers the ground." Some of you have
been cumbering the ground for sixty or seventy years-old sinners; of no use in this world.
Is it so? There you are occupying the ground, keeping other trees from growing, and of no
use! Your family is being damned by your example; the whole neighbourhood is tainted by
you. Do not tell me I should not speak so roughly. I tell you, as long as I have a tongue
in my head you shall have no mincemeat from me. If you are lost, it shall not be for want
of plain speaking and honest warning. Oh, ye cumber-grounds! how much digging and dunging
have ye received at the Lord's hand, and yet ye are fruitless. The axe will soon be at
your root, and oh, the fire into which ye shall be cast! Ungodly man, thou art spared
until thine overflowing cup of sin is dropping like oil upon the flame of vengeance, and
the increasing fire will presently reach thee. The longer the archer draweth the bow the
more mighty is the force of the arrow. What though vengeance tarrieth, it is that its
sword may be sharpened and its arm nerved for direr execution. Oh, ye grey-heads! a little
more delay and the stroke shall fall; tremble and kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye
perish in the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.

And yet, methinks, some of you who have cumbered the ground do most heartily desire to
serve God. Poor sinner! I rejoice that thou feelest that thou hast been a cumber-ground.
Dost thou confess that thou hast been a poor thorn and briar until now. Dost thou
acknowledge that the Lord has been just to thee if he had damned thee? Then come as thou
art and cast thyself on Jesus, without works, without merit. Wilt thou ask the Lord to
turn thee into a good fig tree? If thou wilt, he will do it; for be declares, that he
heareth prayer.

There was once a poor man in a small country town who had not all the sense people usually
have, but he had sense enough to be a great drunkard and swearer as God would have it, he
once listened to a poor woman, who was singing

"I'm a poor sinner and nothing at all
But Jesus Christ is my all in all"

Home he went, repeating these words, he put
his trust in a crucified Saviour, and was really converted. Well, he soon came to the
church, and although he was a pedlar, and always travelling about, he said, "I want
to join your church." They, remembering his sinful way of life, required some great
evidence of a change before they received him, "O!" says he, "I must come
in," "But you have been such a great sinner, and you are unconverted,"
added the elders. "Well," said poor Jack, "I don't know if I'm unconverted,
and I confess I am a great sinnerbut

"I'm a poor sinner, and nothing
at all;
But Jesus Christ is my all in all."

They could not get from him any other
testimony save this. He would only say

"I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at
all;
But Jesus Christ is my all in all."

They could not refuse him, and therefore
accepted him for fellowship. After this he was always happy. When a Christian man said to
him "But you always seem so happy and pleased, John; how is it?"
"Well" said he, " I ought to be happy, for

"I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at
all;
But Jesus Christ is my all in all."

"Well but," said the gentleman,
"I can't see how you can be always so happy and sure. I sometimes lose my
evidences." "I don't," said Jack,

" I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at
all;
But Jesus Christ is my all in all."

"Ah," said a friend, "I am at
times miserable because I remember my sad sinfulness even since conversion."
"Ah!" said Jack, "you have not begun to sing,

"I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at
all.
But Jesus Christ is my all in all."

"Oh!" said the friend, "how
do you get rid of your doubts and fears? My faith frequently fails, and I miss my sure
hope in Christ. My frames are so variable and feelings so contrary, what do you think of
that?" "Think," said poor Jack, " why master I have no good things to
care about

"I'm a poor sinner and nothing at
all,
But Jesus Christ is my all in all.'"

Well, then, if there is any one here who is
"a poor sinner, find nothing at all,"where is he? in the gallery" or
sitting down below? If he cannot say all that poor man said; if he can say the first line,
he need not fear to say the second. Never mind if he can't say,

"Jesus Christ is my all in all."
If he can say,

"I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at
all,'
he is most assuredly on the right road.

"Oh! but," says one, "I am
sinful, vile, worthless." All right! you're "a Poor sinner and nothing at
all," and Jesus Christ is willing to be your "all in all." "But I have
blasphemed God, departed from his ways, and greviously transgressed." Well, I believe
that, and a great deal more, and am very glad to hear it; for thus I see you are

"A poor sinner, and nothing at
all."

I am very glad if you will hold that opinion
of yourself. "Ah! but I am afraid I have sinned too much. When I try I cannot do
anything. When I try to mend my ways; when I try to believe in Christ, I cannot." We
are glad, very glad of it brother, that you are

"A poor sinner, and nothing at
all."

If you had a single particle of goodness; if
you had a little bit not big enough to cover the top of your little finger, we should not
be glad. But if thou art

"A poor sinner, and nothing at all,
Jesus Christ is thy all in all."

Come! wilt thou have him? Thou art
"nothing at all." Wilt thou have Christ? There he stands. Ask: it is all he
wants, for thou art the object of his regard. There are only three steps. One is to step
out of self, the second is to step upon Jesus, the third is to step into heaven. You have
taken one step. I am sure you will take the others. God never makes you feel you are

"A poor sinner, and nothing at
all;"
but, sooner or later, he gives

"Jesus Christ as your all in all.'

O poor sinner, do not be doubtful of my
Master's power. Do but touch the hem of his garment, and thou shalt be made whole. Like
the poor woman in the crowd, do but get at it and touch it, and he will surely say unto
thee, "Thou art saved." If thou wilt go to him with this cry,

I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at all,
And Jesus Christ is my all in all,"

Then you will see the blessed reason why
Jesus interceded thus; "I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the
world."